


When Did It End Up Being You?

by blipblorpsnork



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abuse, Drug Abuse, Drug Mentions, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parental Abuse, Post canon, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Trauma, idk like. ill tag as things get added i think, im still trying to learn the tagging system, rex is a stoner, weevil is bad with emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipblorpsnork/pseuds/blipblorpsnork
Summary: One of the last things Weevil expected was for Rex to turn up on his doorstep needing a place to stay indefinitely. Less expected was the reason why. With a father hellbent on ruining his life, and Weevil's own upstanding, wealthy parents to contend with, things were bound to get a bit dicey. But this was different than anything he could have expected, and now he couldn't help but fear he was falling--in all the wrong ways.





	1. Reflection - Prologue

It had been pouring rain outside when one Rex Raptor had appeared on Weevil’s doorstep. Storming ferociously and nearly one in the morning, in fact, and the dull knocking against the door almost didn’t cut through the sound of wind whipping against the building and the trees. The mint green haired entomophile had been ready to demand what in the _fuck_ he was doing—and had he _looked_ at a fucking clock?!—when he practically ripped his front door open once he realized what the rhythmic noise was, but one look at his childhood friend had frozen the words quick in his throat.

Rex had looked like he’d been through hell and back again and had dragged his half-coherent ass to Weevil’s house just afterwards. He was soaked to the bone—clearly he had gotten there on foot and it had taken him some time—and his hair looked even rattier than usual. It had taken Weevil a moment to realize that was because his token beanie, the ever-present comfort item, was missing. And even through the torrents of rain it was obvious his nose had been bleeding. He’d been sporting a black eye, a split and swollen lip, and an expression that was uncomfortably unreadable. He’d looked horrible.

Weevil had wordlessly opened the door and let him in at the sight, rushing to at least get a towel so he wouldn’t track water all over the house. The brunette had been surprisingly patient while he waited, still saying nothing even as he’d been lead to the couch by the jittery and impatient counterpart to their duo. And now he waited still too quiet, still too patient on the couch, wrapped in several towels and an old blanket Weevil had thrown in the dryer for a few minutes to hopefully help him keep from becoming ill.

The bug-lover could see his friend in the reflection of the wall-mounted TV from where he was bustling in the den by the hidden washer-dryer alcove, trying to find clean clothes that would fit Rex’s broader frame and longer legs. From where he stood, he could barely see the messy hair on the back of his head, still plastered to his scalp like so much wet yarn. His reflection though. It gave away a lot more than his silhouette.

He was listless, hunched over his own lap and looking at nothing, fingers barely holding the blanket around his shoulders. He barely seemed to be breathing, shoulders and chest hitching and moving erratically, but he wasn’t hyperventilating either. He was just there. Just there.

Weevil took a moment once he’d dug through a pile of clean clothing to take in that reflection, take in the sight of his battered and bruised best friend. In the studio lighting the discoloration looked even more severe than it had in his initial observation. Hell, it seemed to still be developing and worsening. Although his lip no longer bled, his nose occasionally started up again—he had rusty smears across the back of his hand from where he wiped at it uncaringly. Clearly, the assault had been recent, maybe within the last hour and a half. Long enough that the shiner he’d been sporting at first was now starting to slowly swell his left eye shut.

This quiet, lackluster demeanor was… Unlike the dinosaur lover. Very typically when he got into a scrap, was in a brawl, lost a fight, even when he got his ass thoroughly beat, he was braggadocious and boastful and tried to save face with tough words and a tougher front. He often put on airs and bold machismo, made light of his injuries, heckled the other person—as long as they were well, well out of earshot of course—and told Weevil and anyone else who would listen that he’d gone easy on them or that he’d just been too high to really care. But to be so quiet and so… Empty, not even angrily brooding, that was abnormal. A worrisome sort of abnormal.

Weevil hesitated behind the couch as he approached with a baggy bug-themed shirt and some oversized boxers he’d never fit. He just didn’t know how to approach this situation. Caring about someone wasn’t really a skill the mint-haired man had in his repetiore. Showing that he cared had never been a skill he’d cultivated throughout his life at all, really. His parents had never been the particularly affectionate type—even when they helped him, in was in strangely detached ways, like renting out a studio for him and letting him live there to avoid the college dorms, for example. They’d never hugged him more often than they deemed necessary or lavished him with kind words. In turn, he never grew to be that way with others, either. He just didn’t know how to toe around this line, this invisible wall that Rex was putting up. He didn’t know how to breach and infiltrate this hornet’s nest without damaging the precious larvae inside. And if there was one thing Weevil Underwood was with insects that he was decidedly _not_ with people, it was delicate.

It was with all of that in mind that he strode around the couch softly, stopping in Rex’s direct line of view. He stayed there a moment, unspeaking and unsure as Rex stared through him rather than at him. Eventually the pothead got his distant gaze to focus on his long-time friend, blue eyes dull and detached. Even that much seemed to bring him pain, and his bloodshot eyes filled with tears.

Weevil sighed, dread pitting his stomach, and placed the clothes carefully in Rex’s lap. He remained standing, pausing for a longer time than remained comfortable, before he was finally able to break that thin veil of ice separating them. His usually grating voice was uncharacteristically soft as he held out his hand to Rex, silently offering to help him stand, and said, “Let’s get you into something dry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for making it to the end of this prologue! Okay so, this is an idea I have kind of developing in my brain cage that I'm planning on updating as I write it. It won't have a schedule; I don't work well on those and my creative juices flow better when I just kinda allow them to do what they do when they do it. So while I can't promise this is going to be updated super often, I CAN promise that it's going to be full of angstttttt and lots of it. I'm a sucker for slow burns and a sucker for hurt/comfort and a sucker for the weak defending and protecting the strong and THAT'S ALL YOU GET!! You're gonna have to wait for the eventual updates to know for sure what's going on ;)
> 
> Also! This is primarily going to be a slow burn hurt comfort shrimpshipping piece, but that doesn't mean there won't be more on the side. I only have a vague notion of what I want this to be, so more may be added into it or taken away as things progress! If you've got suggestions or requests on how you think things should go lemme know! I'm always open to feedback! :D


	2. Fracturing - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to @theroguedoge for helping to read over and beta my work!

Weevil wasn’t prudish per se, but he had always been a bit of a modest individual. Whether it was a security thing or more of an anxiety thing was up in the air at any given time, give or take a moment or two; what always stayed constant was that he didn’t care for so much as taking off his shirt in front of others let alone changing fully in front of them. Mandatory school sports—and their respective locker, shower, and changing rooms—had been hell for him ever since primary school.

Rex on the other hand was very close to a polar opposite. Casual nudity was exactly that for him—casual and nothing more or less. He had no issues being in a shirt and boxers, just a pair of boxer briefs, or buck in the nude in front of other people. Sometimes to a mildly uncomfortable degree, Weevil would argue. There had been many a burning autumn day that the dinophile, despite the cool AC, had crashed in Weevil’s room and immediately stripped to his skivvies and socks. If someone asked, or gods forbid dared him to take an article of clothing off, he did so. Jubilantly. Any excuse to chuck his cloth constraints, really.

But when Weevil had reached out to him just moments ago, had offered to help him get into something drier and warmer, a veil had come down even further over his eyes and a wall had gone way, way up. He’d locked up, stiffening in his heap of towels and blankets, and had given Weevil a completely unreadable look that held too much darkness in its depths for such a carefree, oblivious person. He still hadn’t said a word but now he was radiating an aura of animosity and aloofness, one he didn’t often carry now that the general turmoil of their youths was long past.

A spark of impatience kindled itself in Weevil’s chest at the sudden shift in atmosphere, an angry instinct from his past that he was still working on letting go. His gaze narrowed and his shoulders squared off, but he did not rescind his offer. His outstretched hand remained, in a gesture of patience and good will, however thin those may have been.

“Rex—”

“No.”

The sudden sound of the brunette’s rough voice was unexpected and somewhat startling. Weevil flinched, teeth gritting angrily even as he did so at his own jumpiness, and his already hard gaze narrowed into a patent glower.

“I didn’t have to let you in, you know,” he snapped, harsh edge to his tone.

It didn’t deter Rex; it never had, and it sure wasn’t going to start deterring him now. “Yeah well, that was your mistake asswipe, not mine.”

The shorter man almost took the bait, readily. Almost. Instead and much to his own pride he tightened his shoulders once more and straightened his spine and glared down at his best friend. “It’s not like I want to see your stupid ass naked—”

“Good.”

He let the interruption slide with a heated snort. “—but you look like someone beat the living shit out of you so it only makes sense to let me check you over.” He hurried his words as he felt his companion begin to protest almost immediately. “It’s me or a hospital and hospitals ask questions.”

The last statement took the wind right out of Rex’s sails. He deflated visibly, defensive stance wilting. He slumped back into the couch almost immediately, blankets and towels quietly engulfing his shoulders and looking just as defeated as he did. Without that protective film of anger and aggression throwing up walls that were three meters high, he just looked hurt and confused, maybe even a little bit scared. He looked lost and beaten.

It took a fair few minutes to collect himself once more and lean forward, elbows against his knees to leverage his weight. He allowed his coverings to slip off of his shoulders and pile behind him limply, oblivious to or uncaring of the weight of them against his back. Bloodshot blue eyes finally found their way back to a nearly matching pair—Weevil’s glasses perfectly straight on the bridge of his nose as usual—and the last little bit of fight seemed to drain out of him.

“Yeah I know.”

He didn’t accept Weevil’s still-offered hand as assistance to get off the couch, instead leveraging his hands against his knees and straightening with a poorly concealed groan. Once standing with his clothing half dry and his hair half wet he looked absolutely dismal.

It seemed to pain him further to grab the hem of his damp shirt and start lifting it up and over his head. The sight of deep bruising standing out starkly against tanned skin pulled a sharp breath from Weevil’s throat and caused his chest to constrict.

The worst of the bruising was around Rex’s ribcage. There were deep blue bruises already forming over angry red welts. In some places it looked like his skin was raised nearly two full centimeters. Weevil was far from a medical student or professional but he knew enough about bruises and the human body to know this would all look ten times worse in a few hours. Rex’s flesh was mottled with surface bruises as it was—it was only going to worsen as things developed and there was no way to tell what kind of damage lay under the surface.

“Rex...”

The brunette flinched, maybe from the unexpected sound of his companion’s voice, maybe from how strangled and concerned it sounded. The entomophile wasn’t one to show concern unless it was pretty serious. In fact Weevil didn’t often show anything but annoyance and contempt in front of others, his best friend sometimes included, unless things were exceptionally calm, comfortable, or dire. And from the look of things, Rex was lucky he didn’t have any broken bones.

If he in fact didn’t.

Many of the bruises and the areas around them were littered with abrasions, some having lightly bled, others just bringing blood to the surface and not breaking through. After a last once-over of the state of trauma Rex’s torso was in, Weevil staunchly strode back to the laundry alcove and grabbed one of his softer towels.

“Dry off and don’t put that shirt on,” he ordered, handing Rex the towel and walking toward the bedroom hall without further instruction.

Being an entomology major, Weevil was always decently well-stocked with healing agents and minor wound treatment ointments (as well as bandages of course). He kept a fresh no-more-than-half-used supply in his field pack and in his bathroom medicine cabinet both. This was not the first time he’d had to get something to patch up his best friend and he was far from foolish enough to think it would be his last. And so he gathered his supplies and headed back to the living room.

A bit to his surprise he realized Rex had followed his demands without any protest. He’d dried off his torso presumably as well as he’d been able to. Already it was clear that he was in vast amounts of pain, and as the swelling continued to set in he would gradually get stiffer and more sore.

“Let me bandage you up a little.” It was more of a statement than either a command or a request. By the time the words were out of his mouth Weevil was already heading to the kitchen to wet a cloth in hot water. Once again, Rex had no protest. He had nothing to say, period.

As soon as Weevil was back once more he got to work gently wiping blood and dirt from the more notable open wounds on the brunette’s torso. He was cautious and light-handed as he could afford to be without drawing out the process, but still Rex hissed and groaned in pain. He flinched so hard at one point when the towel scraped against a particularly sensitive abrasion that he knocked the damp cloth right out of Weevil’s hand.

“Sorry...” the brunette mumbled, eyes cast down and to the side. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact, letting his stringy hair fall into his face to further obscure himself.

“Was it Wheeler?”

“What?”

Blue eyes blinked in surprise at the question. Rex was caught off guard enough to re-initiate that lost contact and send a searching glance across his best friend’s face.

“Was it Wheeler, who did this to you,” the mint haired man reiterated. His voice was carefully stoic and measured as he did.

Rex sighed but shook his head, shoulders coming down fractionally. “Nah man, I haven’t had a run-in with Wheeler for years. I don’t really have any more beef with him after everything that happened.”

Weevil nodded at that, quietly taking in that information and processing it in his head. Instead of replying he continued to dress Rex’s wounds, pausing only to adjust his glasses impassively.

It was a tense silence in the spaces between them. Rex didn’t seem to know what to say or how to fill the void; Weevil wasn’t sure if he should press in with more questions. Several minutes went by with only the sound of the first aid supplies and the occasional sniffling from Rex when his nose started acting up again. Neither of the boys so much as looked at each other for the time, avoiding any contact outside of the absolutely necessary.

It was getting more and more unbearable; every small glance at one another felt like a risk. Every breath that was louder than the others ratcheted up the anxiety and made it feel like a confession lay unbidden between the pair. Like too much air pressure, too much water in too little space, the silence suddenly came undone in the form of words bursting forward unintentionally.

“It was my dad.” The words tumbled out of Rex’s mouth with the force of a balloon popping under pressure. He seemed just as startled to be admitting it as Weevil was to be hearing it.

The bug lover leaned back, eyes wide and questioning as he skimmed his friend’s face to see what he could make of things. To stall for time, he looked over his handiwork and, satisfied that there wasn’t anything else he could do without professional equipment, nodded to himself before looking back to Rex.

He stood awkwardly from his partial crouch where he had been tending to the lower left side of Rex’s obliques, subtly cracking the tension out of his back and neck. Then he gathered the supplies together for easy access to put back into the bathroom, setting them on the coffee table for the time being. Then he ungraciously tugged a blanket off of the back of the couch and tossed it toward the side Rex had been sitting on, plopping back on the couch himself and worming his way under one edge of it.

“I thought your father left when you were young.”

Rex snorted as he dropped onto the couch, wincing when he made contact with regret. “Fuck. But yeah. I mean, he walked out when I was too young and too sick and Ma was too scared to go after him and then he came around long enough to get her knocked up a couple more times and left again. But you know all that.”

Weevil nodded mutely.

“He comes back every now and again. Dunno why. Sometimes it’s to get booze and get something out of Ma. I keep telling her to tell him to fuck off but he’s the only reason the little ones are getting food still. Even with what money I bring home, it’s hard takin’ care of four little kids when she can’t work. But sometimes he gets real fuckin’ nasty when he’s drunk and he hits her. This time I hit ‘im back.”

He shrugged as if he was saying the most casual thing in the world. He seemed unperturbed by the scandalized look he was being given; or he was choosing to ignore it.

“I’m just sick’a seeing him toss her around like that. He’s always treated her like shit. Me too but I fought back when I was a teen so he didn’t do as much by then. Too much of a pussy probably unless he’s so shitfaced he can’t think, and then he gets real fuckin’ dangerous. But so it turns out he’s movin’ back in because Ma needs help with somethin’ or other she refuses to let me help her with and he was goin’ on and on about how things need to change and he deserves this and that and the other thing and Ma just tried askin’ him a fuckin’ question about the money he owes her for the kids—” His voice cracked and ratcheted up in volume and anger for a moment. “And then he fucking hit her like she was steppin’ out of line or some shit I dunno I think the stupid fuck is doin’ drugs again and I got so mad and protective that I hit him for hittin’ her but Ma started crying and he started wailing on me back and he got me on my back and was kickin’ me and screamin’ at her to shut up while she was screamin’ at him not to hurt me an—”

His words shut down all at once as a choked sob worked it’s way from his chest. His expression was contorted into pure anguish, tears spilling over his eyelashes and down his reddened cheeks. He stifled the noise but even as he did he sank into himself, pulling the blanket up against his shoulders and chin with a whimper of pain.

Weevil was shaking where he sat, fists balled on top of his thighs under the thick comforter. He was barely able to think straight, definitely not able to properly comfort his friend without getting emotional himself. And if there was one more thing Weevil Underwood was not, it was soft and emotional. Showing distress or weakness now would serve to only further Rex’s own discomfort, he was sure of that. Rex was used to him being crass and angry, or being cruel or stoic. He wouldn’t know what to do if Weevil suddenly went soft on him and tried to comfort him or console him or Gods forbid hug him.

He stood abruptly without much thought, comforter tumbling off of his lap and landing haphazardly on the floor, nearly taking Rex’s half with it. He turned sharply to the brunette, eyes blazing and seething with a mixture of emotions he had no names for. The dinophile looked mildly alarmed as if worried he was going to take his ire out on him, or maybe just confused as to what was going on in that bug loving head of his. But then he turned on his heel, foot nearly sliding out from under him with the force of it, and he stalked off to his bedroom after recovering from his infuriating stumble.

When he stormed back to a completely lost and confused Rex, he tossed a pair of pillows and some small blankets at him, eyes still narrowed into a slashing glare, red still tinting his cheeks angrily. Rex caught them full in the face with an ‘oof,’ managing to only blink at him once they hit his lap.

“Wha—?”

“You’re staying here tonight,” Weevil snapped, voice crackly and high pitched like it used to get when he was really worked up as a young teen. The way he delivered it gave no real room for argument. For once, he narrowly mused in the back of his mind, he didn’t feel Rex would put up a fight anyways. It had been beaten out of him.

Miserable bastard.

Anger shot through his veins once more and in an instant Weevil’s phone was in his hand and he was typing furiously. Seconds later it dinged with responses and he tossed it onto the side table near the left hand side of the couch with a noisy clatter. Then he veritably threw himself onto said side of the couch and grabbed the comforter off the floor, stuffing it around himself like an angry cat building a nest out of their human’s clothes.

With the same amount of fury he snatched his Nintendo Switch off of its dock and powered it on, toggling several menus before returning it to the dock. When he did, the large wall-mounted television turned on automatically, having already been switched to the right channel by the console’s remote settings; the Netflix home menu was up and waiting, having already been logged into the appropriate account.

“Pick a movie.”

Rex’s blue eyes were as wide and dumbfounded as he was in general. It took him several long seconds and many, many stupid blinks for him to find his voice.

“What.”

“Just pick a fucking movie dino breath!” Even as he snapped at him Weevil tossed one of the Joycons at his lap gently, giving Rex full control of what they watched and when they watched it; something he never did under normal circumstances. It was clear, to both of the men present if to no one else, that he was distressed over the entire situation.

Rex blinked rapidly, this time ridding his eyes of pesky tears that threatened to overwhelm him in his already fragile state. It was clear Weevil cared about him in his own way; his own abrasive, stilted, emotionally constipated way. He was awestruck for a moment, just a small one, before a shit-eating grin split his features and pulled at the cut on his lip painfully.

“You’re gonna regret that one bug brain,” he drawled, already toggling to the children’s selection of movies. There was a particularly horrible-looking dinosaur movie there that he’d had his eyes on for a few weeks; tonight was finally the night! Hell yeah!

Weevil groaned—“Jurassic School, are you serious?”—and mushed back into the couch in disgruntled defeat, but otherwise didn’t bother protesting. At least the poor production quality would help keep his mind off of things, maybe—and Rex’s mind as well, hopefully. There was absolutely no way he didn’t need a distraction after everything he’d been through just tonight. 

It was a complicated, messy situation already. And as Weevil’s phone buzzed and dinged quietly, he sighed softly, knowing it was only going to get messier as he replied once more and turned it off for the night. There was no telling what the next few days would bring. So for now, bad dino movies would be livable. Because for now at least he knew his best friend would be safe. Rex always had a home to come to as long as Weevil was around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there and thanks so much for getting this far!! God it's been a lot longer than I intended it to be since I posted the prologue. But that doesn't matter because I got it donnnne and that's what fucking counts lmao. I don't have the next chapter planned out the same way I had this one planned so I won't promise a soon-ish update; this piece is going to basically be updated as I get to it for my own mental health's sake. But I have a lot of story to tell for these boyos here so it will definitely keep getting updated, don't you worry! Let me know what you think! Thanks SO much to everyone who's left kudos and comments so far!!! I never expected this to get so many hits before I even updated with the first chapter! I'm flattered and really excited!! :D Til next time!!


	3. Harbor - Chapter 2

Weevil awoke the next morning with a sense of dread pitting his stomach uneasily. It was in the earliest hours, sun just barely beginning to crest over the horizon. He had to get up and tend to his reptiles and insects in the lower section of the apartment that had been converted to a joint herpatarium and insectarium. Normally he would do this in the relative silence of his personal space, keeping to himself and walking around in the shirt and boxers he’d slept in without a care in the world.

This morning was vastly different, even if mostly in atmosphere.

Rex had stayed the night, keeping the insect lover honest when he had snapped that he had to do so the previous night. He’d ended up falling into a dead sleep on the sofa with the first movie they watched, and Weevil had left him there to rest. Gods knew he needed it.

Despite having opened his home to his best friend, and in some ways despite Rex undeniably being Weevil’s best friend, he felt like the sanctity of his space had been violated. Not so much because his friend was there and had come to him for help; despite what outsiders might think, he would nearly always lay his here-and-now down in order to assist the dinophile.

No, what made him so uneasy now and likely would continue to do so for some time was the way the brunette had found himself standing in the middle of a summer storm at his door, and the prospect of having had to relay that information to his parents. They owned the apartment, and he had to gain their approval for anyone to live with him, as they paid for all of his expenses while he was in university full-time. He knew they wouldn’t likely be happy.

Adding further to the stress was the slew of irritated messages he knew he’d be getting from his father if he didn’t hurry up and turn his damn phone on already. He had texted him the previous night, letting him know what had been going on and that Rex was staying the night—telling him, not asking, a dangerous game. Then he’d turned his phone off for the night after answering a couple questions, not wanting to deal with his father or his mother or anyone else for that matter.

And now here he was, the next morning, dreading what might be to come. With a soft sigh that ruffled his sleep-messy hair in front of his eyes, the mint-haired man slapped his hand onto the bedside table a few times and grabbed the glasses his fingers found first, sliding them onto his nose to gather his phone and pull it from the charger.

He set the device back down as it powered on—right now the buzzing from missed messages would only give him anxiety, if there even were any. Deciding to shower after dealing with his charges in the reptile room, he slid into a pair of pajama pants with pockets and slid his phone into them, trudging across the cool wood flooring toward the bedroom door right next to the stairs that lead into the converted basement.

Dealing with the reptiles and insects was a simple task. Most he kept for both leisure and classwork but all were low-maintenance. He misted those needing misting, fed anyone scheduled to be fed. He took a moment to himself to handle his Goliath Beetle, a large male specimen he had cheekily named Gittite after the Goliath in the Bible in Western Christianity. Then, hands washed and sighs taking on a whole new layer of defeat, he reached into his pocket and checked the display on his phone.

_1 missed call: Father_

_2 messages_

He grimaced to himself; a missed call was always a bad thing. His father was an incredibly busy man and rarely had time to take to make a personal call. That he had called at all likely meant he was already in deep shit; that he had then missed said call was nothing short of a death sentence.

For his own sake, he braved the texts first. An unsolicited call was just as dangerous as a missed call after all; a doctor could not afford for his phone to go off during a client meeting or in his personal office. Anxiety in his throat, a swirling mass of nerves in his stomach, he thumbed over the notification, noting immediately that both had been from his father.

_4:23 AM How long will Mr. Raptor need to stay?_

A good enough sign. It wasn’t an immediate shoot-down. It was with less anxiety that Weevil looked at the following message.

_4:40 AM I do not want riffraff staying in a house I am paying for. Call your mother. Do not return my call._

The ball of dread intensified. He had feared something like this would happen, known somewhere in the back of his mind that this wasn’t something he should have approached his father for assistance with; he should have gone to his mother first, or lied about who and why things had gone they way they had. It was the only thing he could think to do at the time, during the worst of it last night-emotions flying high, fear and rage culminating into a thick bile in his throat. He had thought that surely his medical-professional-father would at the very least lend his heart out to someone who needed assistance. He had of course forgotten his father’s largest flaw aside from parenthood—if one did not have money, one was not worth the supplies to assist them.

It was with trembling fingers and a barely stifled anger that Weevil navigated his phone to his mother’s contact, punching at the screen with more force than necessary and stubbing his index finger as he did. Finger in his mouth, fuming and coming undone at the seams, he waited for three, four, five rings and was just about to hang up and give it another hour before his mother’s soft voice answered on the other side of the line.

“Weevil dear? What has you calling me so early this weekend?” Her words were filtered through a polite smile he could absolutely hear but it did not bely the exhaustion in her voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you Mother.” Weevil’s tone was gentle, calm and showing none of the hatred he harbored for his father figure as he spoke to his frail mother. He let worry edge into his tone however, plying at her heart strings and feeling no less guilty than he would have stealing candy from a child in his youth. “Father indicated I should call you about a dire situation with a good friend of mine.”

The conversation continued in this too-polite vein for several minutes as he summarized what he had told his father—Rex had been turned out and assaulted by his biological father, and needed a place to stay. He was the polite and doting son, mentioning more than once that were it not so essential for him to procure a safe harbor for his dearest friend he would never have bothered his sickly mother quite so early in the morning, and she lamented that she could not be there to help her loving son set up a guest room and maintain proper manners for his guest. It was a farce of familial bonding, a practiced and characterized stage play the two of them always performed together.

By the end of the conversation his mother was replying a bit more stiffly, the smile mostly gone from her voice; to her benefit, she likely was in quite a bit of pain which only coupled with her distaste of having to speak to Weevil for more than a handful of minutes at a time. On his end, Weevil was shaking and furious and every word was laced with false sugar as he politely told his mother to have a restful day. The ‘go fuck yourself’ behind his words didn’t bother to hide itself.

_”My dear, I know you count Rex among your friends, but the bottom line is that he comes from a rather poorly family. I can’t imagine what others may think of us if they see my only son cavorting with people of his caliber. I am genuinely afraid of what he may have already brought into the apartment we’re funding for you—don’t forget that this is our money, dear, and we do have a final say. He could be on drugs, or have diseases! I do wish you’d think of your mother’s health when you do these things to lash out against us. We care about you so.”_

It took all of his self-control not to throw his phone as hard as he could across his herpatorium. It wouldn’t serve a purpose and he knew it. Even the satisfaction of destroying it or damaging a wall would be so, so short-lived, or worse would only further fuel his desire to hit something. Beyond that, it would spook the reptiles and his melanistic milk snake was out of her hide for once. None of the animals deserved his anger.

With that thought fresh on his mind, conversation with his mother leaving the taste of bile and copper on his tongue, he stormed up the stairs and into his master bathroom, cranking the water as hot as it would go and slamming the door shut behind him.

_——_

He had stayed under the scalding water for longer than he should have, but the effects of the pain, the reddening of his skin and the heady waves of steam, were all soothing and cathartic as he’d intended them to be. When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, freshly toweled dry and clothed and still running a smaller towel through his hair, it was to the sound of someone rummaging through his kitchen.

Rex was awake. Good.

He went to the full-size mirror in his closet and adjusted his peach bowtie—he was wearing an off-white button up shirt with cicadas and grasshoppers all over it, a perfect match if he did say so himself—one last time before donning his round-rimmed glasses once again and heading into the living space of his apartment.

The one his parents owned. The one they mutually didn’t want his only friend staying in, even in his time of need.

…Gods damn it all.

His sour mood seemed to float to the surface gently at the thoughts like a disc of ice at the bottom of a freshly frozen beer glass. In the right here and now, he had no idea what to do. He didn’t even want to go into his own kitchen now, given what he would inevitably have to tell the only damn person he cared about other than himself. And there wasn’t going to be any avoiding telling him, just like there wasn’t going to be any avoiding his parents’ wants. The bad mood would stay there, but then, Weevil _Fuck You_ Underwood was no stranger to bad moods.

So, with an air that bled annoyance, he stepped into the kitchen and immediately stopped dead.

Blue eyes behind shiny gold frames were met with a barely-clothed ass at roughly eye level. Which was abnormal on any day, really. It was doubly abnormal as he stared ahead of him, trying to make sense of what the fuck he was seeing in his kitchen, until his brain registered that yes, Rex was standing on a makeshift tower of books—his _textbooks_ , this dumb mother fucking…—in order to reach a bowl in the upper cabinet, boxers riding low on his hips as he stretched to reach. The stack of books was too far away from the counter for him to get into the cabinet easier.

Sigh.

“Rex.”

“Yeah?”

“Rex…”

Oblivious blues met exasperated ones as they locked gazes just as the tower of books shifted under the brunette’s weight. Rex squawked, leaping from the stack onto the counter as they toppled spectacularly. He turned to give his friend and companion a triumphant smile just as the latter turned the corner once more with a folding step stool in his hands.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Weevil’s tone was flat, rid of any anger he had been feeling but certainly not affectionate. An outsider might once more mistake his tone for dislike, malcontent, or outright hatred. And Rex _grinned/ _at the tone. His entire expression bloomed into one of whatever sort of fucked up companionship he felt for his mint-haired childhood friend. This was Weevil’s _I hate you you’re my best friend_ tone and Rex _knew_ it.__

__It was in that moment Weevil decided: there was no way in hell he was going to turn out this stupid idiot and all his dumbassetry. Fuck his parents. That’d been a mantra he’d stuck to for years anyways, why break it now? He couldn’t justify telling Rex he had to leave soon. Not now, after the growth he’d busted ass to achieve since everything had gone down in their tumultuous pasts. Not now that he was at least somewhat happier and attending college and having a good re-start of his life. Not when Rex _needed_ him._ _

__Tomorrow was tomorrow. Today was today. Neither of them had classes today (Rex wasn’t taking cram classes but Weevil was), his father would be working long hours, and his mother likely wouldn’t talk to him again until next month; she’d met her be-a-mother-to-your-son quota as it were. He could think about what to do some other time, or at least later in the day than 7:30 in the morning. Right now, he would play damage control to his pothead friend and eat some cereal and whoop Rex’s ass in Mario Kart. Right now could be happy. Right now could be good._ _

__Because later might not be. He needed right now._ _

__They both did._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT IT'S BEEN 6 MONTHS???
> 
> So okay in my defense... Lmao. Thanks for reading as always y'all! As many of you know, I've been super busy and unable to keep up with consistency. That said I GENUINELY didn't realize how long it'd been since I updated this! I'm definitely not abandoning the series, I just was working on a bunch of stuff at once ^^ I popped this chapter out in a couple sittings so it's a little shorter, and not a whole lot happens, but it hopefully has set the stage for what's to come. If you wanna support me and give me a much needed hand, pop over to my Ko-Fi and drop me a tip. :3 I'll definitely be seeing you guys sooner than later; gonna work on getting at least one more thing done within the next week if I can. Hope you've all been well, and til next time, cheers!


	4. The Taste of Apprehension - Chapter 3

Most of the day went by without any issues large or small outside of minor setbacks from the pain Rex was likely in. He was far livelier now than he had been in the last 12 hours—he wasn’t back to his loud, obnoxious personality quite yet, but he was doing better than the brooding ghost of himself he’d been last night, and that meant something to the both of them. Weevil himself was as blandly neutral-seeming to the untrained eye as he always was—he’d never been an emotive person outside of sneering and leering and jeering, as he’d been told many a time in school—but even he would have admitted he’d been enjoying himself.

They were taking the day to relax and collect themselves. A break after the fiasco of last night on the brunette’s end and the anxiety of that morning on the bug lover’s end. It was soothing to go back to feeling like the old days where they would sack out on a couch at the community center together and play games until the late hours, or meet up at the mall arcade and do the same thing, or go down to the Game Shop and browse trading cards and collectible figures for hours.

True to his earlier promise they played a lot of video games together, namely Mario Kart, the newest Smash game, and some of the newest rendition of the Mario Party series. In anything not co-op, the entemophile did his best to whoop Rex’s ass at every chance he could get; they were a fairly even almost-50/50 in Smash, but in Mario Kart, Weevil reigned supreme. He’d memorized the tracks and had the algorithm down to a T and could practically predict the NPC drivers. Naturally he mained Bowser; he was big and mean and no one could surpass him when it came to weight vs speed metrics, not while he was controlling him. He was everything Weevil wasn’t and certainly hadn’t been when he was in school and with him, Weevil was powerful. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it that way. Rex chose various characters with different weight classes and vehicle setups to attempt to counter everything Weevil threw at him with his large Koopa King but it never seemed to change how dismally he got his ass handed to him. Weevil liked that, too.

Lunchtime came and went. Bug boy made them something simple—a cucumber and tomato caprese he’d grown particularly fond of in the last year of living on his own. The salad was light and simple, both to make and in taste though it was still delicious. It was one of the only dishes he still ate with cheese lately, and therefore was a treat. Rex complained that there was no meat in the dish (until Weevil pulled the toasted baguette out of the oven to eat it with) but that was a moot point anyways since he didn’t keep meat in the house and hadn’t since the day he’d finally moved out of his parents’ house.

The afternoon was simple and pleasant as well: Rex camped out in the living room in front of the TV and browsed Netflix while Weevil worked on a research paper he needed for one of his cram classes. Although research and paperwork weren’t something most would enjoy, Weevil found the monotony of it comforting and soothing. He’d always found pleasure in his classwork even as a child. Perhaps especially as a child, in fact, which was part of what had earned him the label of ‘nerd’ in his youth, though he wore it well, and proudly, even into the latter years.

So, while Rex muttered to himself about the lack of dinosaur related content on the streaming service, the bug lover puttered about his books at the small study desk to the side of the living area, desk lamp illuminating two of his textbooks (none of which had been damaged by the brunette’s dumbassetry earlier that morning with the cabinets and the cereal thank goodness) and his small tablet as he used all three to work.

When his phone buzzed once, he thought nothing of it. He was anything but a popular person even now, but he’d grown to have casual acquaintances in class and one or two of them would message him throughout the day. He was also part of a semi-active group chat for one of his projects he was working on and once or twice a week everyone would get on to log their progress and discuss the next steps. Rex would have no reason to be messaging him right now (not that that had ever stopped the moron from texting him from the other room or right next to him in the past) but otherwise a peer contacting him was ordinary enough that he ignored the vibrations.

When it buzzed again, and another time following it in quick succession, he grew slightly annoyed. Whoever was texting or messaging him could damn well wait until he was finished with this section of the paper; he was eyeballs deep in research material and needed to get it written out while it was fresh in his mind. He couldn’t very well afford to break that concentration now.

He grabbed his phone, blindly hitting the button to turn on the display so he could drag the notification down and silence his phone without turning it on. As he glanced at the display to assure himself he wasn’t hitting the wrong thing with his thumb, he froze.

_3 messages_

_1 Father  
2 Mother_

Shit.

Quickly, suddenly feeling urgency roiling in his gut and cutting through his veins in flashes and sparks of anxiety, he checked his father’s text first; he was the quicker of the two to anger after all and the last thing Weevil wanted to do was piss him off during such a crucial point in time. Little did he realize at the time that his father wasn’t the one he needed to be keeping an eye on.

_4:29 PM Answer your mother._

He scoffed, anger flaring and mixing tartly with the sour taste of apprehension already climbing up the back of his tongue. It mingled uneasily with the anxiety and fear riddling his system with sharp snaps of fight-or-flight.

With a flick of his thumb, he navigated to the texts from his mother.

_4:01 PM Weevil dearest I am giving your little compatriot a deadline. I would appreciate knowing he is out of my house on my property in one week._

_4:26 PM If you refuse or you do not answer me soon I will have to be drastic and involve law enforcement and we all know you do not want that._

His anger boiled and rose into a heavy crescendo. The light around his periphery dimmed as his fingers flew over his virtual keyboard, snapping out a reply to his mother as verbose and studious as any research paper he’d turned in. It ended up being split into seven different texts, typos littering the tail end of his tirade, and by the end of it he was shaking tremendously and breathing heavily, all signs pointing to an internalized anxiety attack. He didn’t bother reading it over as he hit send, not taking the time to know he would regret doing so in no long manner of time; he couldn’t deal with thinking about that, not now, not when he was trying to force himself to learn how to breathe again.

Rex took notice around that moment, peeling his eyes off of the television as he turned to look at his best friend, barely hesitating before asking, “Woah dude, you okay?”

Weevil wheeled on him, eyes ablaze with pure fury and shining with unspilled tears, voice high and constricted with the need to cry. He spat out a violent, “Do I fucking _look_ okay to you, dipshit?!” before slamming his phone down on desk so hard he the awful crunch of his phone casing being crushed or dented or both by the pen he’d knocked it into. The brunette had reeled back a bit—their day had been going so well, and Weevil had been in such a good mood a moment ago—but plastered a smile onto his features anyways, blue eyes holding worry and tone belying nothing.

“Nah man, you look ready to flip the fuck out,” he soothed. He was used to these outbursts. He’d been dealing with them since they were both young teens. While Weevil had certainly outgrown the worst of his personality, he hadn’t entirely left it behind, and probably never would without help.

The blue-green haired man made to retort sharply once again but stopped. Everything stopped. He sat where he was, suddenly paralyzed, not able to think straight. Tears quivered against the bottoms of his eyelids, not falling, shimmering harshly in the light of the den. Time seemed to slow to a standstill as he stared at Rex, the only person who ever tried for him, more than he’d ever tried for himself. The only person who, he felt, cared about him, a sense of belonging his guardians had never given him.

“Mother and Father are going to involve law enforcement if you aren’t gone in a week.” The words came out shaky and broken, like a little kid at a funeral. It was the only thing Weevil could think to liken his voice to. A child who’d lost someone dear to him, speaking in front of their casket. It felt just as crushing in that moment as he watched a darkness shadow Rex’s blue eyes before a door shut firmly in place within them.

Then the brunette smiled a heartbreakingly bright smile, hefted himself off the couch and walked over where he slapped a firm hand on Weevil’s shoulder, and grated out in his rasping voice, “Don’t worry Weeves, I figured I’d end up on the street sooner’r later. Ya tried for me and that’s what matters, man.”

The words tore at him. Absolutely fucking _tore him to shreds_. And in the moment, it was all he could do to keep the angry tears from pouring down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all and thanks for getting this far! I WROTE A WHOLE CHAPTER AGAIN WHAAAT!! Y'all I am SO proud of myself for this you don't even understand!! Aaah I don't have much to say right now other than HA HA WHOOPS HOPE YA WEREN'T HERE FOR FLUFF BRO. This shit is boutty hit the fan :D I'm not sure if I can keep this chapter a week thing going at all but regardless, clench your buttholes and get ready for angst city bitch, angst angst city bitch next chapter! Thank you all so sooo much for the comments and kudos, they sincerely have been keeping me going! You know who you are <3 Til next time~


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